Man of Honour (27 page)

‘I dare say it is, Sarn’t.’

As Steel spoke, a French cannonball flew into the front rank of number two company and carried on through, destroying the bodies of a half-dozen men. Three were killed outright. The others, though, were not so lucky. As the sergeants took care to close up the files, one of the wounded, a boy of no more than seventeen, began to drag himself to the
rear. Both of his legs had been carried away by the shot and apparently unaware of the fact, he was using his one good arm to crawl across the baked grass and ragged earth. Steel could bear to look no longer and averted his eyes. Yes, Jacob, he thought, this is the Devil’s own work, and this place is surely as close as you may find anywhere on earth to hell itself.

It was very nearly midday now and still the cannon crashed out from both sides of the battlefield. Marlborough peered through his spyglass from his position on an escarpment at the southern edge of the village of Unterglau. There could be no doubt as to the full extent of the devastation currently being wrought upon Cutts’ division. He turned to Cadogan.

‘George. Ride and find Colonel Blood, wherever he may be. Tell him, if you will, that we will need at least six, no eight cannon in the vicinity of Blenheim village. He must give supporting fire immediately to General Cutts’ attack on that place. Make haste. We must give the infantry support before they are cut to pieces.’

Marlborough stared down at the plain then turned to Hawkins:

‘Why do you suppose Marshal Tallard has not yet attempted to stop our advance. The Nebel stream is the key to the field. You heard Natzmer’s report. Why did the Marshal not attack our troops as they crossed it, with their columns still disordered? Why, James, a few squadrons of French cavalry could quite easily have wiped out the entire attack.

‘Perhaps, Sir, he has other reasons. Although in truth I am confounded as to what it might be. It is against all the principles of good generalship.’

Orkney spoke:

‘I cannot understand it, Your Grace. He has not moved.
My first action would have been to attack us in the stream. But look.’

As they spoke they could see the last of the redcoats reforming on the far bank of the Nebel. Marlborough dismounted and signalled to the attendants to bring up a large oak table and several chairs.

‘Gentlemen. I think we shall eat now. Join me, please. Adam, send word to all the brigades. Have the men eat their rations. They may sit or lie down, as they wish.’

Hawkins began to wonder whether Prince Eugene had yet reached his appointed position. Surely, he thought, they should have heard from him an hour ago.

Across the allied position small parties of men began to make fires on which to cook their meagre ration. Still though the French shot crashed into the ranks and men stirring pots and cutting bread were suddenly blown to atoms.

To the right of the general staff a regiment of combined Dutch and Swiss infantry was being decimated by cannon fire. Marlborough caught sight of them for a moment.

He saw one of the officers give the command to lie down and, as he did so, have his head carried off by a roundshot.

Cadogan rode up, breathless, his horse flecked with sweat.

‘Your Grace. I have a message from Prince Eugene. He is very nearly ready to attack, Sir. He says to you that he will send word as soon as he possibly can.’

Marlborough looked his friend directly in the eyes:

‘And the bridges? Tell me, George, have the pioneers done as I commanded?’

‘Aye, Sir, all ready. As you instructed them.’

‘Then all that we await is Prince Eugene’s signal.’

Marlborough sat down at the table and called for wine. He broke bread and picked at a leg of chicken, smiling at his generals.

‘Wine, George? Charles? General de Luc? Pray gentlemen. Rest while you may. We can do nothing until His Highness Prince Eugene indicates that he is in a state of readiness.’

He raised his glass. ‘Gentleman, I wish you joy of the day.’

As they returned the sentiment, an aide rode up on a horse flecked with sweat. He spoke in a soft German accent:

‘Your Grace. His Highness begs to inform you that is ready to give the signal for the attack in one half-hour. At half past twelve, Sir.’

Marlborough nodded. He took another long drink and wiped his mouth carefully on a white lace handkerchief, then turned to Hawkins and spoke in a whisper:

‘Waiting. Why this waiting, James? What is Eugene doing? Surely it cannot take so long to reach his position?’

‘It would be imprudent to send to him again, Sir. You must preserve his friendship.’

Hawkins looked across to a battalion of English foot and along the ranks of red. He wondered at the fortitude of the men. Wondered what it was that kept them there. What stopped them from running away from the hail of shot that had been falling upon them for so long. Of course, he knew the answer. Marlborough. It was their commander. He had created this army and he alone would preserve it. Without him the army was nothing. But it was the men too. Cutpurses and guttersnipes to a man, but by God, he knew he would rather go into battle with ten of these men behind him than 10,000 of Tallard’s French.

From the corner of his eye he saw George Cadogan ride up again. The Brigadier reined in, leapt down from the saddle and ran across to where Marlborough was sitting, the tails of his long red coat flapping out behind him. As he approached, the Duke threw the chicken leg on which he had been gnawing towards one of Cardonell’s dogs.

‘I know, George. I know.’

‘Your Grace. He’s ready, Sir. Prince Eugene has drawn up his infantry in two lines on our right with his cavalry to the left. He signals that he is now ready to advance, Sir.’

Marlborough nodded and rose from the table.

‘Now, gentlemen, it appears that our time is come.’

He turned to his brother.

‘Charles. I think we might have the infantry rise up now.’

He clicked his fingers to summon an aide, who came running.

‘Send word to Lord Cutts. Tell him to have his infantry brigades press forward now with the utmost haste. Tell him that he shall have all the cavalry support that he needs. I have fifteen squadrons ready to follow him.’

Now they would see how well the French had prepared Blenheim’s defences. What lessons they had learnt. Hawkins watched as Marlborough turned to the press of his generals.

‘Gentlemen. To your posts, at once. Follow my plan to the letter and the day is ours.’

Sitting on a small mound beside the Nebel, Steel stopped chewing on the piece of black bread which had formed the greater part of his lunch. He listened again. The bands had stopped playing. So now it started. Now it was time for the bandsmen to return to the ranks. To become part of the attacking force. Save of course the drummer boys, who steadied themselves now to begin the long and bloody march that would carry their regiments into the French lines. Finishing the bread that he had crammed into his mouth, he looked along the line. The Grenadiers, as was their privilege, had been positioned originally at the right of the battalion, next to number one company. In the past half an hour though, just before they had sat down to eat, Captain Frampton
had ridden down the line telling-off the companies into their pre-designated firing platoons. In accordance with the manual, Hansam had taken his half-company of the Grenadiers off to the left flank, while Steel had closed up with the remainder of their men so that the battalion now had a complement of Grenadiers on each of its flanks. This was the formation required for the revolutionary platoon firing system which, it was generally held, was proving to be the undoing of the French.

Now Steel stood at the extreme right of the first rank, with Slaughter close behind him. For three hours they had endured the blistering French cannonade. Behind them all stood Tom Williams, grinning broadly, with his sword drawn.

He called to Steel: ‘Sir. Do you really think we shall attack very soon?’

‘Soon enough, Tom. Don’t be too impatient. The French will wait for you. They’re not going anywhere.’

Hansam wandered across to him.

‘What think you to General Cutts, Jack? They say he is as brainless as the sword that hangs at his side.’

‘Brainless he may be, but I dare say that he’s also quite as sharp. He is certainly known for his bravery, Henry. And his boldness. Perhaps we shall see today.’

Slaughter spoke up:

‘Aye, Sir. That much is for certain. We’ll be at them soon enough, God willing.’

Hansam laughed.

‘You’re in fine spirits today, Sarn’t. Impatient for the battle?’

‘Always like a good scrap, Sir. Specially with the Monsewers.’

Steel raised an eyebrow:

‘I shouldn’t be too complacent, Sarn’t. You know that they
call Cutts the “Salamander”, Henry, on account of his always liking to be in the hottest part of the fire. You realize that we are now standing in the most perilous part of this battlefield.’

‘Well, we are Farquharson’s Grenadiers, Jack. What else did you expect?’

Looking to their left, the officers noticed a group of horsemen approaching along their front. Hansam touched his hat.

‘I sense that I must return to my post. I suspect that this might mean we are about to move. Jack, Sarn’t Slaughter. Good luck to you both. Until we meet – in Blenheim.’

As he walked back, the horsemen grew closer, stopping close to the centre companies. At their front, Brigadier Rowe stood up in his stirrups.

‘Good luck, my boys. I am certain that we are sure to take the day. It will be as hard going as any you have seen, but I have no doubt that we will come through it together. Keep me in your sight, my lads. For I shall be the first at those wooden walls. And mark me well. You are not to give a single fire at the enemy until I myself have struck my own sword upon the palisades.’

Rowe turned his horse and rode back along the line.

Steel heard Sir James’ tremulous voice sound high above the guns:

‘ ’Talion will prepare to advance.’

He drew his sword and raised it high above his head. Now, thought Steel. Now, you foolish, brave old man. This is the moment for which you have waited. The reason that you raised this regiment. I wish you luck and joy of it.

Sir James’ voice rang out again:

‘ ’Talion. Shoulder arms. Forward march.’

As the sword came down to rest on his shoulder, the drummer boys struck up a thunderous roll and followed it with the crashing rhythm of the ‘advance’.

The ground was soft and boggy and as they walked forward Steel could see the mud pulling down stockings and sucking off shoes. He gazed across the ground at their objective. It was he guessed 200, perhaps 150 yards away. Before them lay the smaller tributary of the Nebel, some seven feet wide. The banks looked dry enough but as they approached the ground became increasingly marshy. Ten paces more and puffs of smoke began to erupt from the smaller of two wooden water mills which spanned the stream. Musket balls began to patter around them like hailstones. One man of his company went down, hit in the leg.

Cussiter exclaimed:

‘Christ, Sergeant, I thought the pioneers had cleared out them houses.’

Slaughter hissed in his ear.

‘Them’s not houses, Cussiter. Them’s mills. And never you mind about the pioneers. Just keep moving forward. Look to your ranks.’

As they watched, the French snipers in the mills ran from the buildings and back towards their lines. As they did so, with a loud crackle the mills’ wooden timbers simultaneously burst into flame.

Glancing to the left Steel could just see the Foot Guards, his old comrades, going into their own attack beneath the huge squares of crimson silk.

The Guards’ objective appeared not to be the village of Blenheim itself, but a long line of overturned carts that linked the furthest most cottages to the marshes at the edge of the Danube. There were Frenchmen behind that barrier for certain but in what strength and of what quality Steel could not be sure. Well they would find out soon enough. By a curious quirk of sound, above the noise of the drums and cannonfire, he heard the distinctive sound of his own regimental colours
snapping in the breeze. The French cannon were firing more fiercely now. Suddenly Steel looked to his left and flinched away as a huge iron ball tore into the front-rank man two down from him and obliterated him in a mess of flesh and bone.

‘Christ, Jacob, what was that?’

‘I don’t know, Sir, but whatever it was I don’t want it near me.’

The French had opened up with their heavy guns. Twenty-four pounders. The calibre of artillery more normally employed for siege warfare than against infantry. You could blast a hole a yard wide in a solid stone wall with one of those cannonballs. Against flesh and bone the effect was devastating, particularly when used at such short range. Another of the balls came hurtling into their ranks carrying away an entire file of men and leaving in its trail the wounded and dying. Their shrieks coloured the air.

They forded the shallow stream and began to climb the apparently gentle slope on the other side. Steel knew what they would see at the top. But he wondered quite how they would be met. It was surprisingly hard going here. Reaching the crest of the escarpment they had an unrestricted view of the village from about 120 yards out. They could see, too, the source of the deadly barrage which had rained down on them for so long. On a small hill to the right of Blenheim stood six of the largest cannon Steel had ever seen. Further down the allied line, as he watched, the English pioneers, themselves under heavy fire, were finishing the bridges of fascines which would carry the centre of the allied army across the Nebel.

The drums were building to a crescendo now, hammering out their rhythmic beat to drive the men on. He looked about at his own command, and tried to account for as
many faces as he could before they continued their advance. Mackay, McNeil, Tarling, Cussiter, Taylor, McCance and the rest. All of them grim faced now. Slaughter began to dress the lines.

Steel saw Sir James as he rode along the rear of the reforming battalion. He watched as the Colonel dismounted and gave his horse to a servant before walking slowly to the centre front of the regiment. Yes, he thought. You do have it in you, old man. Now, seize the moment and take your men into battle.